Dark Arc One: Arrival
by Crimson of the Mandalorians
Summary: Three guys who somehow end up in a hellhole of trouble. Just remember, space is a weird place. Rated M for general blood and gore. Like a lot of gore. Two words. Dead Space. If you've played, expect that kinda gore.
1. Prologue: Red Lightning

_**Prologue: Red Lightning**_

* * *

Emperor Palpatine clutched the red lightsaber in one hand and the heads of his last student, its lover and informant in his hand. The bodies did not bleed because the wounds were cauterized shut. The heads reflected each of the horrors they faced when they died.

The lightsaber retracted into the handle and Palpatine returned it to the folds of his robes.

"This is what happens," he threw the heads onto the table of Admirals who met in the Cabinet room. "To those who fail me. Get those Lothal rebels taken care of. Or turn out like my black hand." One Admiral was propelled backwards. His head exploded up the wall. Chunks of red skull stuck to the wall; they looked like wads of solid blood dripping with red and cranial fluid. "Or, like your friend there."

Most of the generals were dead silent. Their faces ashen. Their breaths held. Their bodies rigid. They looked like corpses who sat straight in a row and a dark tomb.

A few Admirals sat back in their chairs. One looked at the Emperor and cocked his head. "What planet do you hail from, my Emperor?" the blue-skinned alien inquired.

"None," Palpatine hissed. His wrist flicked as if he meant to kill the blue admiral, but decided against it.

An emergency hologram opened in the center of the table. A red light turned on and lit the room red. A piece of the edge of the galaxy lit up.

"A battle rages on the fringe," Admiral Thrann, the blue-skinned alien leaned forward. "Attack pattern analysis." Buzzing yellow lights along sped paths followed patterns unlike anything Thrann had ever seen before. "Amazing…" he gaped.

Several Admirals read reports, "Aldir Vir, the planet attacked, reports that the ships were detected several weeks ago entering the galaxy from a trajectory leading to a galaxy thirty million light years away. These ships have just entered the Vir system and begun to…kill and…bring the dead population back to life as fungal forms."

Emperor Palpatine felt the Force writhe. He had felt it writhe for quite a while. But truth was, these days either the Force writhed in agony or laid in peace. He smiled crookedly at the destruction of Vir people and life. Lights were snuffed and dark creatures fed off the flames. Instantly, his eyes glowed with greed.

"You four, head to the Aldir Vir system. Destroy all ships and life forms except one ship. Eliminate all life on Aldir Vir if necessary. But bring me back one of the ships. You, go find the best scientists in the galaxy." He frowned. The force would not writhe beneath his crooked, broken, shifting body by the end of the week. But it would writhe again once he mastered these new fungal forms. He smiled. With these forms he would destroy the Rebels.

He only needed to learn of them and impel them.

* * *

The day rained sheets from the sky. The water blanketed the land and saturated the dirt down to stone. The clouds dark grey as moonlit twilight on the ocean, yet noon reigned. Lightning turned the misted outside deep blue into indigo. The sound rattled the house nearly as much as the rain.

The day rained sheets from the sky. The water blanketed the land and saturated the dirt down to stone. The clouds dark grey as moonlit twilight on the ocean, yet noon reigned. Lightning turned the misted outside deep blue into indigo. The sound rattled the house nearly as much as the rain.

Thunder shook the floor. Three teenagers sat on the couch. On the right sat a red-headed seventeen year old, who stood at about 1.8796 meters tall. Braedan had a slim, yet sturdy build with wiry strength hidden within him, kept behind a friendly grin. He wore jeans, a dark grey and black hoodie, and a black shirt with some kanji that read Masamune. At least, that's what the shirt said. His black sneakers were slightly worn from use. He laughed as he scored a lucky kill and leaned forward, slowly going deeper into the zone. His green eyes darted about as his character's gaze quickly shot from foe to foe. He reacted almost instantly, his character responding to his touch with ease. His fiery hair was spiked about as he played, slowly getting more out of control. His character fired another clip of shotgun rounds into a Minotaur, sending into the void, as his hands jerked to find the next target.

In the center sat Derek. An eccentric young lad, he was the oldest of them all, being the age of 18. His facial expressions constantly changing in tune with his actions on screen, as if he himself were one with the avatar in which he puppeteered. His small hands in which he used to play extended to the overall stature of his body, only standing at a mere 1.651 meters, a head or two smaller at least compared to the others in the room. His superior leg strength propelled his lean body up in spasmatic excitement over his killing spree, yet collapses into a nearby chair, knotting himself up in his own baggy light charcoal hoodie, and catching his right arm between the chain link of his wallet. Yet the entire time his eyes, gleaming to the appearance of Sapphire transitioning to emerald are heavily fixated upon the screen, for it was Derek's first time playing Destiny, and the first time Braeden let him test out his new hard drive he constructed for an engineering class in college. Derek is perpetually attempting to find a comfortable position to lie his body, for he could not stay still from over-stimulation.

On the left sat a broad, bull-strong, truly big boned, wide faced, small nosed, permanently smiling man of seventeen. Ethan sat on the couch, curled into a ball in the corner. His controller raised, he flacked away at the controls. He fired the rifle, missing the leaping soldier by a mile. His avatar turned his head up and watched the soldier leap over him, grab him from behind. Ethan turned the stick and pressed left trigger, hoping to kill him. He struggled to kill even a singular enemy. His avatar died. His thick brown eyebrows furrowed, his blue eyes changed to grey temporarily in the monochrome light of his screen death. He respawned and his patterned irises looked down at his black Vitruvian Man Plays Metal Guitar shirt and blue jeans. His smile disappeared, he raised his hand and ruffled it through his thick, thick, but short, combed, nigh-greasy and parted dark brown hair. His fingers uncombed a large portion of long faded dyed blue hair. He considered recombing his hair. But in the company of friends kempt hair was unnecessary. He continued to play regardless of hair. Controller flacking him forwards, running, sprinting towards inevitable defeat. He rounded the corner, his eyes registered red, he clacked left trigger and his character raised his arms, his gleaming silver knife (nazi officer knife, Ethan thought of his cousin's nazi collection, the silver knife was not nazi, but it gleamed like his cousin's) made a sweeping motion across the neck. The opponent was dead. "YES!"

The lights flickered. The television blacked off and on. The rain splat the window. Ethan stared at the tv, mouth unhinged.

"Dammit! The game died!" Ethan said.

"NOOOOO! My beautiful Ga-ame!" Derek slipped onto his knees from the couch, and shook his fists in the air, face in mock tear-face.

Braedan laughed. "You all died!"

Ethan said, "You died too!"

"Nobly!" he proclaimed.

Derek walked on his knees to the Xbox One and caressed it like a dead love. "Why?" he whispered.

"Derek. You're beginnin' to creep me ou'." Ethan stood; walked around the central table, and rubbed Derek's head, and walked out to the kitchen.

Derek laughed and began to roll on the ground.

"Water?" Ethan paused to consider a question. He resumed motion and asked it from the kitchen.

"No, but thank you." Derek replied. He went limp on the ground. His eyes followed the brown, five star ceiling fan on low-speed.

The Xbox One turned on. Braedan flipped through the game menu. He selected the Destiny icon.

The sound of rain drowned the sound of the ice machine in the kitchen. Ethan considered sound and its properties. He smiled at its perplexities. He realized the two words rhymed.

Derek considered their fruitless efforts to succeed at Destiny.

Braedan laughed at his friend's unsaved lives. No one could tell he laughed, he knew better than to let it last too long on his exterior.

In the kitchen Ethan turned the faucet, he considered this ironic. Water outside made the world invisible to him. Water inside fell into his cup as a translucent sheet. The same, yet different only in the human mind.

Braedan would tell him to stop philosophizing. Derek would lay disinterested. Ethan could not help it. He did not know "small talk". He knew "everything else".

Ethan entered the living room. The ice clinked on the glass sides when he moved to sit on the couch.

Derek looked at the glass and wondered what kind of force diagram could represent the forces. Destiny's theme music stole his attention. His head turned abruptly to peer up at the TV.

Braedan held up the controllers. "Anyone want them?"

Ethan said, "Sure."

Derek replied, "Absolutely."

The television flickered again. Destiny died. Thunder shook the house and made the TV wobble on its stand.

Ethan cursed, "Schwarvy mc lelhlin!"

Derek laughed at their joke.

Braedan looked and smiled. He had no idea what Ethan cursed or why Derek laughed.

"How is Mgcilo going?" Derek asked. Mgcilo was a language Ethan was creating. It was a slow process. He started inventing words before phonetics were complete, as a result, when the final phonetics were published in his notebook he overhauled the language, which took two weeks to the language sounded germanic, after the overhaul it sounded like a cross between latin and russian but without ps, bs or ms.

Ethan shrugged, "The other day I developed the syntax and cases. There are seven: dative, prepositional, possessive genitive case, nominative, accusative, ablative and instrumental. I was thinking about adjective inflection the other day…"

"Derek, Ethan! Shut up before I hit _both of you_! How are we going to fix the TV?" Braedan had not interest in Mgcilo.

Derek looked at the TV and said, "She be broken."

"He be broken." Ethan corrected.

"It be broken." Braedan stood and walked to the window and pulled back the curtain. "The rain just won't let up."

"Dude, what if it's a sign a wormhole is going to open up?" Ethan laughed.

"Yeah! You're right! It's been raining cats for well over an hour. I'd hate to be driving."

"The roads are now rivers," Ethan croaked. His voice inflected huskily and spoke, "Rivers of blood." He cocked his head. "Rihvairs." He said in no particular accent whatsoever.

Braedan sighed deeply. "As dimension lord, I say there _are_ wormholes opening. Just not here."

Derek and Braedan's phones vibrated in their pockets. They pulled out their phones. "It's from Mark on the group chat."

"When are you guys gonna include Neo?" Ethan fiddled with his hair and spread his legs out to cover where Braedan had sat.

"We already have. She's british." Derek typed away on his phone.

"So she talks?" he asked.

"No." Braedan laughed. "Derek just says she's british but we don't actually know."

Ethan sighed, "We-"

The rain had gone silent.. A shaft of rain as high as the clouds accelerated to zero and floated in the air. Then God hit the rewind button and the rain followed their arcs up the clouds. Raindrops un-plopped from the ground, pieces flew back together, grass moved back to where it had been before. The sound was much the same as before except for subtle ears.

Dark gold static gathered at the base of the house. Red arcs of electricity leaped up around the house to the highest chimney and leaped into the air between house and sky. The lights faded to dark in the house. The rain slowed to a stop and obeyed gravity again. Voices of family began to call to another, they voiced concerns of well-being. Three replies were absent. The rumple of feet crossed the house in search of these three.

The Baird home was void of three familiars.

* * *

 _Ethan_

* * *

Ethan sighed. "We-ell," he opened his eyes. The white ceiling had transformed into the walls of a deep chasm. The light was brighter and emerged from an overhung tube of fluorescent light. The heavy rain had become the sound of sloppy water from great heights. The smell of apple candles was replaced with a toxically fragrant scent very much cloy and bitter. Ethan's eyes began to water, his ears went deaf momentarily and he could only choke on the acridity. Sputum spilled wanton onto the dark, orange fungal carpet floor of the world. When he acclimated to the taste his nose began to bleed.

"Ah what the fucking fuck JUST HAPPENED!" Tears began to fall down his face. He felt heavier, his head began to feel like liquid sloshes around in it and nearly ever uncovered orifice spewed liquid uncontrollably. "FTHUUUCK!" He cried as a second choke attack ensued. His hand went for his throat, which contracted tightly. Every fiber of muscle in his body quivered, but his throat was solid as iron. But the solidity hurt very much and he wished his throat could move.

"Waka?" a voice called behind him.

"Waka?" a deeper, louder voice called above and to the right.

"Waka-waka?" thrummed a tongue forward and to the left.

Ethan could not hear these voices increase. Nor see what they were. But the saw him with their long, two jawed faces, six limbs, six eyes and three antennae. Their skin was varicolored and loose enough to be mistaken for Technicolor robes and their eyes were long, their pupils black and W-shaped. With one mouth they hissed and the other they wakaed.

When the choking disturbed them deeply after this second long attack they leaped onto Ethan and dug into his skin with curved, scythe shaped claws and their scorpion-like tails dug their three inch talons into him. Ethan's back arched and he slipped and fell backwards. Inch wide orifices all over their bodies opened and released a slippery goo. They slithered their bodies off as best they could while he writhed in pain and they climbed away up the walls of the chasms.

The pain was intense. The shock coursed through him and he began to hyperventilate. He counted the seconds between breaths. This calmed him and a few minutes later he slept. He had no wishes in these moments. Only intense pain.

On the wall was a number; 413. Beside the number was a black two-side slide elevator door. The right door was off-kilter and a dim light shined through from the elevator within. The elevator's light flickered. It shifted and groaned; then began to travel upwards.

* * *

 _Braedan_

* * *

Thunderous rancor replaced with applause. White walls with black, green and neon pink. A band of amorphous beings played jazz-like music. Braedan sat not on a couch but a bench. In his mouth was a purple cigar. He wore a worn brown cowboy hat on his head and in his right hand he clutched the controller. A smell akin to weed drifted through the malaise and into his nostrils. He registered the scent, but did not react to its strange, tangy bitterness. It felt normal and comforting. It was the smell who thought for him.

"... I'm in some hellish rendition of high school." He muttered as he stood up, subconsciously making sure that his necklace remained in place. Looking around, he observed an extremely surprising sight. He appeared to be so sort of a bar, one not particularly classy or clean. Patrons of all shapes, sizes, and species laughed and drank at the bar and in booths. Braedan drank in the sights before standing up, slipping the controller in his pocket, and heading out past the patrons. Upon stepping outside, he simply stared in amazement. Ships flew by as each desperately slipped through the lanes as they traveled. People and creatures walked along the small paths around the buildings, that descended into the depths.

"What the hell?" Braedan paused as an Imperial Gunship glided past him, the black symbol painted on it confirming his thoughts. "I'm on Coruscant? How?" He looked over the edge into the depths. "... On second thoughts, who cares, I'm on Coruscant. That's what matters." He steps back and looks up. "Okay… Now what?"

* * *

 _Derek_

* * *

"Uhm," Derek stared at the dark blue sky. He laid spread-eagle on the ground. The ground burned the back of his neck, the nerve endings in his hands did not pick up the heat at first. When they did he retracted them closer to his body and rubbed their red, boiled features. He thought they smelled burned and almost believed he heard the skin begin to sizzle.

He raised his head. The sand dunes around him were bright. He looked up and saw two suns about the size of his Sol.

"Dark blue sky…I wonder if this place has so little water in the air that the sky is darker but the day is brighter." He shielded his eyes from the brightness of the albedic dunes. He breathed in the air and coughed. A gust of wind blew hot sand onto his face. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!" He hopped onto his feet and blew out the sand from his grimy, dry mouth.

He smelled burning. He looked down at his clothes. A grey hoodie (he needed to keep that), jeans (he needed that too), black shoes smoking (how badly did he need those, really?). He ripped off his shoes. The black rubber burned his hand. He dropped them and cursed. The heat was not so bad on his white socks, but sweat already drenched his legs and started to bleed through his sweatshirt.

"Gtg," he said. He started walking away from his smelly shoes.

As he walked along the dunes, air became a concern. As an asthmatic, it was already torture forcing his lungs to pulsate to the beat of his now rushing and heating blood.

Derek struggled up the side of a shifting dune. When his head crested the small dune he caught a glimpse of a silver tower hung before indigo sky. The sand shifted and he fell out of sight. He struggled faster to reach the top and when he did he swayed his body so that he rolled down the side of the dune. His skin burned and his lungs clenched in protest. When he made it to the bottom and coughed sand and spittle and looked up at the horizon to spy several moisture collection towers several hundred feet away.

He ignored the protest of his feet so he could walk to the towers. White, plastic pipes emerged from them. The surface of the metal was cold, particularly around several roofed open pipes. He reached up to a flat, open surface away from the pipes and pulled his hand away in pain.

"Hmmm… it seems there's a bunch of water trapped in the system, and here is another fluid running through here"

He tastes it. His mouth is filled with a sensation of numbness and dryness… and a hint of salt?

"GREAT! This is Sodium Cyanide! I can take the two reserve tanks, filter then through a third portable one, use these two moisture nodes to have the new stuff undergo electrolysis and… Wait. This is a Moisture Farmer… the only place with this is… NO. WAY."

* * *

 **Crimson: Welcome to a new story, cowritten with Time Traveler 7, and Derek. Who is Derek. And May the Fourth be with you all.**


	2. Act One Scene One: Humble Beginnings

**Crimson: Huzzah! Scene One! Scene Two is in progress! So here you go!**

* * *

 _ **Act 1 Scene 1: Humble Beginnings**_

* * *

 _Ethan: Coruscant Underworld_

* * *

Several minutes filled with the echoes of creaking metal and the rush of waterfalls. A vermin passed silently by once.

The elevator slowed to a stop. The left elevator door opened and a man in dark robes and a hood walked onto Level 413. He looked out at the scene, looked down and there was Ethan.

"Fash, des hume" he said. ( _Fascinating. A man._ )

Ethan groaned. His lids opened little and he turned his head towards the man. Words floated in his head. "Helter," (Help). he requested. "Hagart-je helter-sor." (I need your help.)

"Fash. Jmear-soo Aenvash." ( _Fascinating. You speak Aenbash._ )

"Helter-mc!" Ethan called. ( _Help me!_ )

The man hesitated. "Alon-soo aetd?" ( _Are you alone?_ )

"Helter-mc!" Ethan called louder. He tried to stand up, but could not. ( _Help me!_ )

The man walked over and picked Ethan up in his arms. He supported him on his upper back and the back of his knees.

"Tang-soo." Ethan murmured. ( _Thank you, I owe you my life._ )

"Melech-sor mc ngang." ( _Gratitude, you will pay me back in the future._ ) He climbed into the elevator and ordered it to go up to floor 1027.

"You speak English?" Ethan asked.

"Aenvash-la jmear-je." ( _I speak this Aenbash._ ) "Lhacher-ex-no'ad numbers exee Aenvash-yon." ( _We need to learn numbers in Aurebesh._ ) The man thought to himself, Jmear-soo Aenvash-yon exee. ( _You speak Aurebesh._ )

Ethan did not understand the last sentence, partly because of the adjective inflection and partly because his consciousness faded.

"Hagart-no'ad tal faoosh travars." ( _We need to get high fast._ )

Blood trickled down his arms, his torso, between his legs, into his crotch and down his inner thigh. _He's losing blood, fast._

The elevator clicked up the levels quickly. The man fought the urge to sit or crouch. Acceleration was twice Coruscant gravity because the inertial dampeners were long dead. After a couple minutes the elevator slowed to a stop.

Both doors opened into a large, dome shaped area filled with tent sheets and metal-shacks. The shelters were arranged in meandering rows which became streets and intersections. In each intersection a small fire was lit. Animals, fungi and vermin crawled in walls, cages and pens. A singular river, several dozen feet across, cascaded from the opposite side of the dome, roughly 1500 feet away, and wandered through the west side, the east side and finally disappeared in a sudden drop in the south-west. The scents of mud, waste, lilies and apples wafted through the entire chamber. The chamber was lit not only be fires in intersections but a central pillar made of waves of light, shifting slowly downwards in steady waves of light.

The man ran out the elevator and made his way through the streets, past the fires and towards the North end, where the River cascaded from the heights. He ran to a single tent where stood a few men and women over people garbed in tight robes and bandages. " _I found a man injured below._ "

" _Is he from the village?_ " one man asked. Another woman took Ethan and laid him down on an empty cot. She checked his temperature and pulse. She eked when she pulled her hand away, it was covered completely in blood.

" _I believe he is, but he speaks Aurebesh. It's possible he was that boy lost a while ago._ "

The humans nodded, the others fed Ethan liquids, ripped open his modern clothes and applied ointments to his skin. One took a stick from the fire in the tent and thrust it on top of the worst wound. The blood sizzled, the skin blackened, aroma of burnt flesh pervaded the tent but none recoiled. Ethan screamed in pain. He opened unfocused eyes and rolled into his head.

" _Flin,_ " one man spoke to the man who saved Ethan. " _Do you know what did this to him?_ "

Flin nodded, " _Must have been the Wakans on 413. They have territory around the elevator. Non-poisonous to humans. It might be to half-breeds._ "  
" _This boy is no half-breed,_ " the doctor said.

" _Will he survive, Yim?_ " Flin asked.

Yim shrugged, " _We fed him the yo-li and cauterized his wound. How do you suppose he got down there?_ "

" _Like I said, he could be Gleen from a while back. If so then he's picked up Aurebesh._ "

One of the doctors dropped a metal scissor onto the floor of the meager tent hospital. One of the patients opened her eyes and stared at them. " _Aurebesh?_ " one said.

" _Aye._ " Flin nodded.

Yim looked at Ethan and said, " _This boy could be our hope._ "

The woman patient smiled and said, " _It is as they prophesied in the Old Book of Sun. 'A manboy will be found in the undertow. He will be pure bred. He shall speak the old tongue better than the new. He shall possess knowledge greater than any jedi. He has eyes which pierce the veil of the dark side.' Chapter of Blood, Fragment 3 Verses 6-11.' The boy can speak the tongue. That means he can open the doors. Give him whatever medicine he needs. Take it away from me if need be._ "

Yim tapped her forehead three times and smacked her knee twice with her right hand, " _We do not know, yet. Just wait._ " She smacked her lips and nodded her head. The skepticism was plain.

Blue light lit the sorry, tattered, stained cloth ceiling. Shadows from an unknown source grew thick and thin with the regularity of a slow heartbeat. There was no hum to accompany the sound, but there was a soft murmur in the distance, a cascade of water nearby and the crackle of fiery embers. The smoke from which stung his nostrils and partially covered scents which might be blood and rotten flesh.

Ethan realized his own flesh was wet with sweat and pock-marked with numb spots. _It's so hot in here,_ he thought. _Am I naked?_

He breathed deeply, expected to cough, but instead gasped and tensed his muscles at the pain in his abdomen. He raised his head on his aching neck and brought to his wound. His arm protested, but he fought to look at the bandaged wound. He clenched his teeth tightly as he rubbed the edge of the cloth wind around his stomach.

His abdomen cramped and he screamed, his teeth clattered shut. His eyes widened, he was afraid he would bite his tongue.

"Nae! Shu-soo!" a blue woman wearing long, thick brown wools hung loosely over her scrawny blue arms, like monks robes. Her gaunt face looked down at him, her inhuman yellow eyes searched his face. Ethan looked at her. She looked back. "FUCKING HELL!" he started, hands grabbed his shoulders and forced him down. His abdomen exploded in pain and he screamed. "UMER!" the blue woman growled. She rolled her head, rolling two thick wads of hair down her shoulders. At first Ethan thought his eyes lied. _Eyes often lie,_ he thought absurdly. But the conjectured mistake in his brain did not correct itself within the standard seconds. He went through the options. _Blue person with yellow eyes and weird single piece, absurd, one piece (pajamas?) cord hair trunk things growing out of back of head. What is normal?_ Ethan screamed and started upwards. His abdomen exploded in pain, two strong hands pushed him down.

"I don't…" Ethan started. _Wait, I have to speak Mgcilo._ "Melech-" _When did my stomach get wet?_

The woman clicked her tongue and tilted her head up, "Nae hagari-soo four sor-melech. Aedt-je an tael." ( _No need for your gratitude and reciprocation. I am a doctor._ ) She pressed her hand against his largest wound and Ethan breathed and writhed violently.

"Amlhang-I _some_ wantmech. _You will be fine. You will experience a lot of pain._ Thig- _you_ rarui."

Ethan looked at her partly confused and partly in pain. He had only invented some of the words in his language. He shook his head and said, "Yang aedt-je," he grunted in pain, she moved her hand close to his groin and he felt very uncomfortable, he refused the urge to shake uncomfortably, "Yang aedt-je, ni nae'cuhvren gal fra Aenbash ." ( _I am sorry, but I do not understand all Aenbash._ ) "Ftah aedt-"

"Shuzh-soo!" the woman reached for something out of sight and pulled out two cones attached together by a string strung through several holes close to the point of the cone. She shook her (insert word here) behind her should, placed one cone to her ear and one over his heart and listened.

 _My abdomen should be this wet?_ Ethan lifted his head and looked down at the red sheets. The pain in his side made more sense.

She clucked her tongue and pulled the primordial stethoscope away from his chest.

"Kro sor nom?" ( _What is your name?_ )

"Yim," Yim replied. "Uik fra sor?" ( _And yours?_ )

"Ethan."

"Ethan, mleeje rai-juhn teht." ( _Please sit up._ )

"Okay." with difficulty he sat up. When he succeeded she began to unwrap his tape.

"Where am I?" Ethan asked.

Yim looked up momentarily and then concentrated on untying his bandage.

"Jeez, I keep falling into English." The view of the camp was much the same as when Flin brought Ethan home. The light was just as blue, the fires just as bright, the smell just as bad. Stalactites covered the ceiling, but from Ethan's view the ceiling only looked mottled black, blue and grey. Three other patients were wrapped in blankets or pieces of their bodies were held high. Two were human, one was wookie. The wookie stared at Ethan silently. Ethan shivered and groaned in pain from the shiver.

"Not a colorful place, is it?" Ethan smiled at Yim. Yim looked up briefly and smiled back. She brushed a small suture puncture wound and Ethan cursed.

"Tang." ( _Sorry._ )

"Nae'n." ( _No problem._ )

" _Do you have medicine for the pain?_ " Ethan asked after some careful word choice.

" _Yes. But you are not bad enough to get it._ "

"Nae'j yonsuhn doul-soo...vlliyum...tdi ngal?" ( _Would you not consider fixing the pain?_ ) He added a word he had not created yet to see if she understood.

Yim looked at him with some confusion, but replied, " _No. Now don't be_ on'lin."

"Ftah fo 'on'lin'? ( _What is 'on'lin'?_ ).

Yim was about to answer when a group of three people arrived at the opening of the tent which faced the large encampment of people.

" _Yim,_ " started the foreman in the long, ugly, stained, once regal tatters of a leather jacket and leather pants with filigree and lace designs in white. " _We would like to speak to the manboy._ "

Yim unwrapped a roll of bandage. " _What for, priest?_ "

" _You know well._ "

" _Let me treat him first._ " Yim ordered. " _Let the healer do her work and sit away where you can be less annoying._ "

The priests clucked and inclined the head slightly. Ethan followed them as they crossed to the west side of the pavilion, exited the pavilion and sat on large sheet of metal supported by a wrinkle of metal which rose out of the thin dirt floor.

" _What is their purpose?_ " Ethan asked.

Yim sighed, " _Religion. The Priests of the Old Book of the Sun. They heard from Flin you speak Aurebesh._ "

" _Exee Aenbash-yon?_ " Ethan was unsure of what they said other than it was something for a very long time ago.

" _Old tongue._ "

" _I do not understand._ "

" _Aenbash is what we speak now, exee Aenbash is what we used to speak._ "

Ethan shook his head and closed his eyes. He did not understand the majority of the last sentence she said. He was not sure if what she said was a sentence.

Yim ordered Ethan to lie down. He obeyed. She pressed her hands hard against his abdominal wound and began to chant, "Soma, soma, soma." Under her breath. With each repetition her head inclined until it was almost tilted completely upside down and she inhaled and exhaled, pushing her head forward.

A little light glowed between her fingers and his bandage. The crackle of the cauterization softened a little and a small stabbing sensation disappeared from his lower back.

"Magick." Ethan smiled. ( _Magic._ )

"Fors." ( _Force._ ) Yim corrected.

Ethan's smile disappeared. His face went blank. "Force?"  
"Fors." She clucked and shook her head.

"Ohhh fuck." Ethan chuckled a little. "Oh fuckity, fuck fuck fuck. What load of motherfucking beautiful bullshit for my fucking fucker fucker "her" gun. I've become a crazy son of a bitch and this is actually a mental hospital. Am I right? Force?"  
Yim smiled, "Force." She clicked and shook her head.

Ethan sighed. "Schwarvy-je."

Yim smiled a little. She motioned for the priests to come over. They stood from the convenient bench. Their tattered garments fluttered behind them. _Maybe it's tattered for affect._ Ethan wondered.

" _Welcome, Coruscantian._ " The priests bowed deeply to Ethan; who frowned deeper at "Coruscantian". _This is not fucking real. But still…. A new chance…_ He looked down at himself and then at Yim.

Ethan held his hand out to Yim who pulled him up. Ethan gasped in pain. He bent his back, but rebelled and straightened his back.

Ethan was shirtless and stripped to his underwear and shoes. Bandages covered the little bit of flab on his stomach and his medium-length hair felt ruffled. He felt ready to bounce all around the tent, like he could not sit still. _Crap, my ADHD meds have worn off. I wonder if I can hold a coherent conversation with these guys for a long time. It's probably a miracle I could talk to Yim for so long._

" _Thank you,_ " Ethan bowed deeply. " _Yim, are there any clothes I may borrow?_ " Yim nodded, walked over to a chest on the North end of the pavilion and pulled out a robe of uncertain color. Ethan pushed his arms through the sleeves, wrapped the left side of the cloak around his right side and half way across his back. He then took the upper left corner of the long sheet with arm holes and a hood and bent it back and slipped it under the right side of the collar. _If only I had a pin._ Yim handed him a leather belt. He took it and belted the robe so that it did not come undone easily.

" _Thank you, Yim. I was uncomfortable so bare._ " Yim looked confused, but then she understood and shook her head.

The priest on the left, who had long, neck-length hair, ebony skin and white teeth, motioned for him to follow them. Ethan nodded and followed them to the sheet of metal they had waited for him on.

The metal was slick, the bench slightly slanted and like everything around the sad chamber it seemed, it smelled and it was covered in rust.

The priests climbed onto the large 9 foot by 11 foot slab and crawled over to where they sat indian style in a v-shaped towards him. Ethan climbed up and sat indian style as well.

" _Ethan, we need to ask you questions. Who are you? Where are you from? And can you read this?_ " It took a few moments to understand what they said, but he understood. The central priest, curly hair, white skin and rotten teeth, small height and skinny build, repulsive forehead and nose. Ethan resisted the urge to wrinkle his face in disgust. He took the book and opened the book to a bookmarked page. In the book was written in aurebesh:

Red lightning reaches across the heavens towards forces beyond force and reckoning

Three humans drawn across time and space towards new worlds. No call is unanswered in beckoning

One will appear in the underworld. He will be discovered speaking a tongue known to him. A language he invented.

Here, at least, I know he will free us from our prison. But at terrible price for us. The answers lie with the poor children stranded.

Ethan shook his head. " _I am sorry. I cannot read these words._ "

The three priests sighed deeply. The left one said something unintelligible. The central one muttered, " _He is not. Just a manboy. Yes. Foolish I am._ " The one on the right, bald and nearly the size of a dwarf with arabic facial tendencies and minor horns growing out of his head. The horns visibly changed shade of grey from very light to very dark. The priests bowed their heads, closed their eyes and started to humm softly at the same note and at the same time.

"Weird." Ethan remarked. His abdominal wounds began to hunched over as he was. He wished his wounds did not hurt so much. Or that he had given these priests despair and grief.

* * *

 _Braedan: Coruscant_

* * *

Braedan lowered his head and stuck his hands in his pockets. _Apart from what I know, which is a lot, I'm a di'kut. So… how can I change that?_ He turned left and started walking along the narrow path, watching for anything that could possibly change his luck. Maybe I could get a money somewhere or maybe… He stopped and shook his head. "Let's focus on staying alive." He kept walking before reaching the end of the walkway, causing him to pause. Two stormtroopers stood at the corner, possibly taking a short break while on patrol. _Hmmm. Maybe I could ask for help._

"Um, excuse me? Could I have some help?" Braedan asked the two men. They turned towards him.

"What do you need?" One said as he leaned against the wall.

"Directions." Braedan paused and smiled as he continued. "I need to find the old Jedi temple." The second stormtrooper snorted.

"The old temple is now under Imperial control. What could you want there?"

"That's my problem. I just need directions." Braedan said stubbornly. "Will you help? Or should I keep walking?" The first stormtrooper nudged the other.

"Come on man. Give him directions, it's no skin off our backs." He said simply. His partner groaned.

"Fine. Just tell him where to go already." He grumbled. The first stormtrooper turned to Braedan.

"Take that transit there to the city center and head east about three 'll get you to the old temple." He explained. "You got money?"

"Enough." Braedan said. "It'll do." He nodded before jogging over to the transit and stepping inside, slipping among the people to the back. The transit lifts off and begins flying towards city center. He waited in the corner, pulling his hood up as he silently leaned against the wall.

The shuttle finally glided to a stop and Braedan carefully slipped out among the crowd into the city center. He looked around before heading east, as he had been instructed. After traveling about a block and a half, he slowed, as the crowd thinned near the building ahead. "That has to be it…" He muttered as he approached it. Several stormtroopers, along with a captain, stood outside of the large building. Braedan cautiously approached them. "Um… Excuse me."

The stormtrooper captain turned. "What is it civilian?"

"I want to enter the temple." Braedan said simply. The captain laughed.

"And you think we're just gonna let you in?" Braedan stood stubbornly, reaching into his pocket.

"No. However, I'm getting in." The captain aimed his rifle.

"I don't think so…" He fired as Braedan pulled out the controller and caught the shot with it. The captain stared in surprise at the melted blob of plastic in Braedan's hand. He shot forward past him and sprinted into the temple, dropping the plastic blob. The captain yelled after him.

"Get him! Don't let him get away!" The other soldiers stared before running after Braedan. They aimed and began firing.

"NOPE!" Braedan yelled as he swerved and dashed inside the doors, the rounds blasting into the stone.

"Move in there! And call for reinforcements." The captain yelled as he ran up to the door with three men in tow. Braedan continued sprinting through the decrepit hallways, hopping over wreckage and debris.

"Okay... I need to think... Come on, I played KOTOR. I can remember this." He slid to a stop and looked around. "Um... That way?" He dashed off to the left down a passage that was even more decrepit than the others. Vague yells of orders could be heard throughout the halls as he moved along. He paused before slipping in an alcove in the wall and waiting as several stormtroopers ran past. He peeked out before cautiously continuing down the hallway.

"... This was probably a bad idea now that I think about it. Yeah, as a moneyless, unarmed civilian, let's raid the Jedi temple. Great idea." He muttered as he checked around a corner. The hallway ended maybe fifteen feet further in a wall of rubble.

"... Firefek." He looked the other way and saw a plain wall. "Seriously?! Come on! I gotta have a better memory than this." Braedan turned and started down the hall, seeing a larger room at the end of the hall.

"Oh good. Maybe I'm not lost... Well not that lost." He walked into the room and looked around at the immense amount of crates spread throughout. "... Yeah I'm lost." He walked over to the nearest crate and opened it. He stared inside at the cylindrical tubes within.

"Jackpot." He pulled out several tubes and clicked six onto his belt and slipped two into each pocket before grabbing one more and holding it in his hand with a grin.

"Now, I'm armed. In the most extreme way possible." He flipped it into the air before catching it and activating it, the bright gold blade extending from the silver metal hilt. "Sweet. I'm a fan of this one." He muttered before deactivating it and slipping back down the hallway.

"Now to escape alive." He muttered as he reached the intersection and stopped. "Firefek." He activated the lightsaber and stared at the squad of stormtroopers in front of him. The stormtroopers stared back. The captain from outside the temple stepped forward.

"Kid, if you're smart, you'll surrender." The captain said as he aimed his blaster.

"So you can shoot me? I just want a lightsaber! I'm not gonna resist or anything!" Braedan replied as he held the lightsaber in front of him. "I like the empire. At least when they aren't trying to kill me!" The captain sighed.

"Well, you broke into a heavily secured area. There's gonna be some kind of penalty. But how about this: You drop the weapons and I arrange for the charges to go away."

"And how are you going to do that? Cause this got way out of hand." Braedan said back as he slowly lowered the lightsaber.

"How would you like to join the Imperial Army? I might be able to get you into the officer academy, or at least enlisted." The captain explained.

"... And I'm assuming the alternative is prison?" He muttered. "Cause this is an illegal venture of mine."

"You got it. So, prison or academy?" The captain said cheerfully. Braedan let out a sigh and deactivated the lightsaber.

"I'm keeping this, but I'll fight for the Empire." The captain chuckled.

"I'll see what we can do about that." Braedan deactivated the saber and nodded as he gave the captain the six lightsabers off his belt and slipped the last lightsaber on his belt.

"So... How does this work?" Braedan asked. The captain chuckled.

"Follow me. Razor, call off the search. Those three squads are probably exhausted." The stormtrooper nodded and the group moved out. "And have another squad take over on guard duty."

"Yes sir." The trooper said. Braedan followed the captain silently to an Imperial Shuttle. The pilot lifted off and started towards their base as the captain began speaking over the comms. Braedan leaned in the corner, watching the other stormtroopers while tuning out the conversation. The captain nodded and turned to Braedan.

"You'll be tested to see how well you fair, and to see whether you're good enough to be an officer." Braedan nodded.

"I intended to try to enlist on better terms, but whatever. That's life. One giant cesspool of bad luck." The captain laughed.

"You said it kid. Now get ready, we're landing." He sighed and stood up straight, adjusting his hoodie slightly.

"Wonderful. Standardized tests. My favorite."

"You certainly have the positive attitude to make it. Now get going." He said as the ship door opened. Braedan walked out onto a landing platform and was greeted by two stormtroopers who ushered him into a room where he began testing.

* * *

Seven and a half hours later

* * *

Braedan sighed as he walked into the combat instruction room and stood on the mat. "Let's just get this over with." The instructor walked forwards and stood silently. Braedan sighed. "So do I attack you? Or do you attack me?" The instructor suddenly lunged at him and was caught off guard by the perfect block Braedan executed. "So... Do I shatter your wrist now? I follow through and slam my elbow into your kidney?" The instructor swept his leg into Braedan's, causing him to fall, but he pulled the instructor with him, shoving him so they both hit the ground. The two stood up and resumed their stances. The Instructor slowly relaxed.

"You pass. Carry on." Braedan sighed before heading out of the room. He was greeted by a man with a blonde crew cut and a scar across his lip.

"You passed every exam. In fact, your scores were extremely high. Above average. You will be placed into the Officers Academy on Coruscant." He then turned and left, leaving Braedan alone in the room. He sighed and sat down in the corner, gripping the lightsaber that no one had taken from him.

"Well, that could've gone worse." He muttered as he waited in the room.

* * *

 _Derek_

* * *

Excitement fills Derek's lungs in place of the subjective substance, 'air', as he is repetitively propelled by the force full winds in frying directions.

"I was just blown about what seems to be 50 meters in about 1.5 seconds giving me an acceleration of 44 m/s2 meaning wind speeds are around 66 m/s… Yes, yes, YES!"

His feet sunk into the dunes constantly, only serving as an anchor keeping him from his newfound destiny. The thought of sinking into a solid in the middle of nowhere fret him not. Yet being stranded in a foreign location, the elements crushing his passion the entire strife, he runs with a sense of knowledge; as if he knew exactly where he was going.

...That is, until he found some metal scrap lying in a pool of vehicle oil. When he kicked it, he smirked condescendingly, for he knew something of such a small stature could hinder no part of his journey until he tripped over another large piece of scrap unbeknownst to him and his blinding arrogance. As he sulked in his sin, he noticed the small sheet still afloat atop of the liquid was reluctant to change position, or even rotation. To prove his hypothesis, he stumbled over to the pool of ooze, injured in his lower left shin from his ego getting knocked down a few notches, and proceeded to prod at the jagged object. It even resisted rotation. As he is swept away by another gust of wind, from what seemed to be an odd direction for him, the wind also revealed the area around him was littered with similar pieces of scraps. He rushed around the pikes of jagged shrapnel searching for another piece of similar size, clearly lacking a fear of tetanus. Once found, he half-ran, half-limped over to the first scrap atop the liquid and tossed the piece to it. "... FFFFFFFFLLAGNARD! It's MORNING!" After looking at his surroundings, biting a piece of metal to detect rust, and pondering at the newly formed piece of floating shrapnel, he realized one end was magnetized; meaning it was a compass. And because of the direction it was pointed in, it showed him he traveled 3 hours…

In the wrong direction.

Despite his unfortunate miscoming, Derek's

stride toward his destination only widened, with only more reason to hasten his pace. Along the way, Derek began to ponder what else he may have been blinded by. Was he being blinded by the very bright future he sought out? Did his own ambitions and desires of an obtainable fantasy cloud him from the reality of a very real and dangerous situation? Rationally, the next course of action for Derek was, whilst running, pick up a rock and toss it directly upward, watching from departure to return of his hand. The time did not add up, causing him to stop dead in place, and then moving around slightly after realizing he sunk so far into the sand the heat from the small grains began to cauterize his shin-wound. With his free-hand, he drew a force diagram in the sand whilst estimating the weight of the rock with the other.

"Now, it could be the momentum of the upward wind, but the rock took less time to fall than what it should have… a whole half-second. According to the numbers, I'm somewhere with a surface gravity slightly… MORE THAN EARTH?! But… Wikipedia doesn't lie! The fan-base is too strong! Even if I'm not there, the gravity is too different. Meaning… I'm still not on Earth, meaning this could still be cool! NEW PHYSICS TO ANALYZE!"

With an Irish skip, he resumes his journey, leaving the diagram as a testament of his reignited hope. He lacks hydration from excessive physically demanding activity and the immense heat of the planet in which he resides and has yet to fully understand where is thereof.

And after five hours of perilous sprints, constant beat-downs, and dusty force diagrams; he comes across a small hut and a slightly larger chasm a few meters away from it, a beautiful array of intertwining colours of spectacular reds and oranges and whites originated at the peak of both these structures. He knew it meant only one thing: Two Suns.

An adolescent boy of about twelve or thirteen is seen working on a speeder. Parts and scrap are spread across the ground, an oil substance leaking out one of the thrusters, a collective of similar, yet varying coloured wires, were sprawled out of the area where he was working. He is seen throwing his tools in an act of aggression, his face laced with sweat and overworked blood vessels giving his skin a red hue.

As the boy cursed in several inaudible sounds, for Derek's ears are crusting with a batter of sand and earwax, Derek walks casually towards him.

"That's a nicely running speeder you got there…" The foresaid object let's out a painful mechanical moan, and more fluid is ejected from the other side of the dying metal beast.

"Hmm?" Derek gestures his hand out for the tool the boy had just thrown.

After handing it to him, Derek rearranges some of the wires hanging out haphazardly, and places the tool gently over where it appeared to fit snugly then wielded the tool back and hit the hunk of junk violently once, and the beast roared to with a new sense of life.

"WOAH. How did you do that? I've been working on this for at least THREE SEASONS and couldn't get it to run!" the boy expresses with astonishment and resentment

"Blue wire…" Derek said pointing to a patch of wires that all look the same.

"Ohhhhhh…"

"Derek." Formally greeting the boy with an open hand.

He returns the favour, "Luke. Thanks for fixing the speeder! Uncle Owen is going to be psyched! Is there ANY way I could repay you?"

"Actually…" A cluster of hypothermia, dehydration, hysteria and fatigue from lack of oxygen finally catch up with him, "Could I get some type of water… and oxygen… and a nice place to sit… I just remembered I've been running aimlessly in the desert for 8 hours…"

That's all Derek could ask before his legs finally gave out on him from deprivation of energy.

Luke responded with hesitant shock, "Oh… um, wow. Uh… okay, yeah. Here! As soon as you get back up I'll have a pitcher ready for you. We can talk more inside, come on!"

As Luke rushed into the hut to assist his new fallen friend, Derek does nothing more than extend his arm perpendicularly up in the air, and brings it back down with a clenched fist. "Yes… I was right!..."

For once in Derek's seemingly treacherous life, he finally achieves something he has never felt before even in his previous life: Clarity. After his body takes on a reptilian-like appearance from Grand degrees of dehydration causing all [yes… ALL…] parts of his skin to crack, bleed, and cauterize from the mighty wind gently gushing sand condescendingly across its chosen victim, Derek cannot help but to lie there with a sense of resolve. As he sees Luke rushing out with an overflowing pitcher, Derek cannot help but to give in to the temptation of fatigue, closing his eyes to speculate the adventures and trouble to which him and his newly found friend will indulge.

* * *

 **Crimson: And that's a wrap! Scene one is released! Now, as you may have noticed, due to the way this is written, there are... complications in the writing process. Lot's of editing and rewriting so it all works out. However, we will continue our work!**


End file.
